When we were young, it was easy to believe in Santa.
Now that we’ve grown up, it’s easy not to believe in Santa.
He’s going to take off his costume when he goes home.
And pull off his fake beard.
And maybe he’ll pass by us on the street before the New Year comes to an end.
Time does that to us, strips us of illusions.
When I was young, I used to write short letters to Santa asking him for gifts.
Sometimes he delivered them through his recurrent messenger, my mother.
Santa still delivers gifts to me at this time of year, always indirectly—he’s a busy guy.
I can’t say I think that much about him anymore.
As the years go by, we tend to learn to give to ourselves the gifts that really matter rather than expect them from others.
And yet, what would grownup Christmas be without Santa?
Global warming has done away with snow, at least where I live.
But Santa always shows up around this time of year in one form or other.
Even if it’s only on the radio or in commercials, he makes his presence felt.
I guess I still believe in Santa, not in his existence, but in the idea of his existence.
Whether or not he has a beard or part time job doesn’t matter.
He could be a woman or African American or South Korean. Same to me.
The thing about Santa is that he wears the holiday spirit, and it suits him.
I don’t know exactly what that is, the holiday spirit, I wouldn’t be able to define it, but it’s in the air.
I still believe in Santa because Santa gives me the excuse to give gifts to others.
To think about others and my family more than I usually do.
And that is worth a bit of deception, isn’t it?
And even if this year Santa wears a mask, well, let him.
Online shops will lend him a speedy hand.
And don’t worry about Santa catching the coronavirus before reaching you.
His chimney habits and sky sledging make him good at social distancing or so I’ve heard…
(c) Image: Patty Vicknair